


Domestic Disturbances

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Challenge: Yuletide 2007, Gen, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 11:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ordinary day in the Bluth household. Well, as ordinary as it gets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Disturbances

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sionnain in the Yuletide 2007 Challenge. Love to chash for betaing.

Michael Bluth was washing up from dinner when his son George Michael approached him.

 

"Sorry about the pizza," Michael said.

 

"Yeah, well, Aunt Lindsay should be free to experiment."

 

"Well, she can experiment with her love life, not our dinner. Slices of pumpkin are just...not good. You wanna dry?"

 

"Yeah, sure," George Michael said, taking the towel. "Dad. Um. I was kind of wondering if you'd help me with something."

 

"What is it? School?"

 

"Not...not exactly." George Michael swallowed. "It's...a girl."

 

It was, of course, George Michael's cousin Maeby. Not that George Michael was ready to tell his father that.

 

"A girl?" Michael stopped washing for a moment. "Will I ever get to meet this girl?"

 

George Michael paused. "It's...it's very likely, Dad. Yes."

 

"...it's not Anne?"

 

"No. Not Anne. Definitely not Anne."

 

"So...what kind of advice do you need, bud?" Michael grabbed the towel and dried his hands.

 

"Well..." What had seemed like such a _good_ idea lost some of its shine when his father was actually _listening._ "I was thinking. I'd kind of like to write her a letter. And...I could use some help."

 

Unfortunately, Michael Bluth's theatrical experiences had ended in elementary school. He'd never read _Cyrano de Bergerac._

 

"Well, sure," he said. "What do you need?"

 

Maeby found the note in her locker. She'd never gotten a note from a secret admirer of any sort before, and it wasn't what she'd expected. Ever since her inadvertent wedding to George Michael, he'd been acting...odd, to say the least. But this note didn't seem like George Michael's style. Or Steve Holt's, and he was her cousin, too, anyway.

 

Of course, the reason it didn't seem like George Michael's style was that _Michael_ had written it, or at least most of it. George Michael had added the Magic Marker hearts and her name, but the style itself was her uncle's.

 

It was a _nice_ note. For a minute Maeby wondered if it was from one of the teachers, but that didn't seem to fit either. The stationery looked expensive, the little poem was...passable, and it wasn't all in pink or covered in glitter.

 

Maeby was moved.

 

Maeby should've known better than to ask her mother for romantic advice, but she found herself wanting to talk to another woman, which severely limited her options.

 

"Hey, Mom? Did you ever...have, you know, a secret admirer or anything?"

 

"What, like a stalker? Come in, you'll let the animals out."

 

"...Mom, what're you doing?"

 

"It's the latest thing," her mother said, as Maeby walked into the bedroom. It was full of small, wriggling things. They resembled a horrible cross between rats and puppies. "They're called nutria."

 

"Nutri--what?"

 

"Nutria," Lindsay corrected. "They're the next gourmet meat. Michael told me I could keep them in the backyard if I made a pen, but...I'll get the pen finished, soon, anyway."

 

This was, of course, not Lindsay's first experiment in animal husbandry. In addition to a short-lived pet-dying operation, as a child she'd had both a rabbit and a large, pampered boa constrictor. One day, the rabbit disappeared, and after the boa constrictor appeared to double in size, her mother had forbidden any further pets in the Bluth home. This had disappointed Buster, as his dream had always been to own a plum-headed parakeet.

 

"What...what are they for?"

 

"Fur!" Lindsay's desire radiated through her tone of voice. "They're apparently _gorgeous_ when they're...harvested."

 

"I thought you thought meat was murder."

 

"It's beautiful murder, sweetie. Now what did you need?"

 

"Um...." Maeby considered. One of the nutria was sniffing her pantleg, and the whole room smelled funny. "Um, I was wondering if you'd seen the dictionary. I...need it for a paper."

 

"No idea. Try your uncle."

 

So Maeby did. "Hey, Uncle Michael?"

 

"Yeah, Maeby," Michael was inspecting the wall next to the kitchen counter. "Does this look funny to you? Tell me if it looks funny to you."

 

Maeby looked. It looked like something had been gnawing on the woodwork. "Yeah," she said. "It looks funny."

 

"It's almost like a rat or something...you think we have rats? God, it's probably rats, that's exactly what this house needs, a bunch of rats running around chewing on everything...."

 

"Um," Maeby said, thinking of the small furry things squirming around her mother's bedroom. "You probably should get some traps. Just. You know. In case."

 

"Yeah, that's a good idea...." Michael looked up and caught her eyes. "So what did you want?"

 

Talking to Michael was always an odd experience. Unlike her parents, Michael seemed to take her seriously at times, and would eventually get around to asking her what she wanted and why she was talking to him. "Um. I got...did you ever have a secret admirer?"

 

Michael considered for a moment. "No. No, Maeby, I can't say I ever did. Did you get an email or something? You're not getting stalked, are you?" Michael had recently read an article on online stalking in the _New York Times._ It had featured a fortysomething man known only as F. Lynne, who liked to ask women if they'd like to suck on something big and black. It had disturbed Michael deeply.

 

"No, I had a note in my locker. It was...it was an okay note, actually."

 

"Like not creepy okay?"

 

"Yeah. It just kind of said that I was pretty. Which was okay, I guess. I just...you think I should do something?"

 

Michael took a deep breath and wondered, not for the first time, why his sister and brother-in-law couldn't handle...well, anything. The thought of asking Nellie briefly crossed his mind, but Maeby was pretty savvy, so he ruled it out.

 

He was fishing mentally for some other advice when they heard the screaming. It was high-pitched, vaguely feminine....

 

"Must be Dad," Maeby said, and Michael had to agree.

 

"It was awful," Tobias said, when they'd finally talked him off the bunkbed and into the kitchen. "It was like a rat, only _enormous,_ and it had huge orange teeth."

 

"Look, I'm sure it's...nothing. Probably." Michael looked over nervously at the scratch marks on the woodwork. "Come on, we'll get you some tea. You want a cornball? We could make cornballs."

 

"No, no," Tobias said, pulling himself up in the stool like a cat. He itched absent-mindedly at his left wrist. "You know I enjoy a good balling as much as the next man, but I think I've had enough excitement for one day."

 

"...right," Michael said, and put the water on.

 

Maeby passed George Michael on her way back to her room.

 

"There are...things," he said, "in your parents' room. They're like rats only...bigger and more orange."

 

"They're nutria," Maeby said. "Mom wants to sell them for fur or something."

 

"What, you're serious?"

 

"Yeah. I guess they're supposed to be outside."

 

"That's...very strange, hey, did you get any weird letters or anything? Like secret admirer letters? I mean, not that I'd think you'd...."

 

Maeby immediately realized what George Michael's question meant. "You got one too."

 

"I--" George Michael was torn between honesty and panic. Panic won in a landslide. "Well, I'm not sure it was a _secret admirer_ letter exactly, but--"

 

"I'm _sure_ that's what it is." Maeby's flame of hope had turned into a bonfire of irritation. "Some creepy stalker who hates our family and is just trying to make us all look like idiots. Damn, I _hate_ this!"

 

She stalked away, leaving George Michael to wonder, not for the first time, if he'd done the right thing.

 

He thought a few hours at the banana stand, and then maybe the library, might take his mind off things.

 

It didn't.

 

When he got back, the nutria were staging a takeover. They were swarming in the hallways like some kind of crazed lemming party.

 

"I didn't realize there were so many of them," he said.

 

"You knew these things were here?" Michael yelled. He was trying to assemble a box trap on the kitchen counter.

 

"Aunt Lindsay said you said it was okay." George Michael realized how weak that sounded, but it had been the truth.

 

"I told her she could keep a _few,_ animals." Michael said. _"Outside._ Does this look like outside to you?"

 

"Well, um, I'd have to say it doesn't," George Michael agreed. "Definitely not outside."

 

"They're like rats only bigger," Michael said, trying to kick one with his foot and missing by half a foot. "With bigger _teeth._ They're orange. Did you see the orange teeth?"

 

"Um, yeah, I did see those. Actually, I did some reading on them in the library-- it's pretty fascinating stuff. Did you know their name comes from the latin for 'mouse beaver'?"

 

"No wonder Tobias didn't like them," Michael muttered. "Did you find out what they eat? I'm trying peanut butter but I'm not sure it'll work...."

 

"Um. They eat whatever they want, I guess."

 

"Oh, that's _wonderful._ I thought Lindsay would buy a mink or something. You know, something short-tempered and vicious. That's what we're used to around this house...are they leaving?"

 

The lemming horde seemed to have turned. "I...I think they are."

 

"What...what happened?"

 

"Apparently they like hay," Maeby said, walking in with a brilliant smile on her face. "I've been leaving a trail."

 

"Maeby!" Michael said. "You are a genius."

 

"Yeah," she said. "I know. Now if we can only think of something that'll, you know, eat them or something...."

 

"Let's take this one triumph at a time, shall we?"

 

George Michael grinned. "That was really smart of you, Maeby. Wasn't it smart of her, Dad?"

 

"You know what I've always said," Michael said smoothly. "Looks and brains aren't a combination you see every day, and you've got to be happy when you find it."

 

Maeby and George Michael both stared at him in mute horror.

_On the next Arrested Development:_

**Maeby confronts Michael.**

 

"What kind of _weirdo_ writes anonymous love notes to his _niece?"_

**Michael confronts George Michael.**

 

"...I just have to ask: What kind of _weirdo_ writes anonymous love notes to his _cousin?"_

**Tobias confronts the box trap.**

 

"Hey, is that peanut butter--?"

**And Gob confronts the author.**

 

"Seventeen hundred words and you couldn't even _mention_ me? _Come on!"_


End file.
